


Sticky Situation

by crimsonseekers



Series: Caught in a Web [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Not much but it's there, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23060788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonseekers/pseuds/crimsonseekers
Summary: Wheeljack knew getting involved with Prowl was probably going to come with some baggage. He just really didn't expect what he found.
Relationships: Prowl/Tarantulas, Prowl/Wheeljack, pre Prowl/Tarantulas/Wheeljack
Series: Caught in a Web [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699951
Comments: 20
Kudos: 115





	Sticky Situation

**Author's Note:**

> is this crack? i can't tell.
> 
> anyway this goes out to k (stiction on here and unscheming on twitter) for screaming about taraprowljack enough with me that i got inspired to write this.

If Wheeljack had to place where exactly he’d managed to get himself into the mess he did, he’d say that it probably all started when he agreed to make circuit boosters for Prowl.

Now, that wasn’t to say that he strictly _approved_ of Prowl’s addiction, it was more like… Prowl did what he wanted, and Wheeljack felt infinitely better about the situation when he was able to monitor what exactly Prowl was putting into himself; the mech had made some vague, worrying comments about a previous mech he’d gone to about it adding some ‘unsavory, mind addling’ things to the drug.

The way his friend (were they friends? Wheeljack couldn’t make much sense of Prowl’s thought process) had averted his gaze and flinched when Weeljack had tried to put a comforting hand on his shoulder told the scientist all he really needed to know about that situation.

So yes, that was probably where it started.

Where it had become an irreversible situation, however, was probably when Wheeljack started fragging Prowl.

Getting overcharged with the mech that Wheeljack remembered blasting his head off (even if it was under mind control) was probably not his best idea, and having woken up the next morning, chassis pressed to the space of Prowl’s back between his sensory panels, and able to hear the mech’s soft vents in his audials really just proved that point.

Not one of the most awkward morning afters Wheeljack had ever had, but it was certainly _very_ up there.

They also didn’t really _stop_ fragging each other afterward. It had led to the odd discovery of Prowl being _highly_ suggestible during interface, and - well, Wheeljack wasn’t the _biggest_ fan of manipulation, but he could see the advantages of talking Prowl into thinking things through before he started plotting assassinations. Wheeljack wasn’t even sure what to call whatever was going on between them - he hadn’t even really been sure if they were even _friends_ before they’d started sleeping together.

Lovers? The ‘facing wasn’t exactly _tender_ and _loving._

Dating? Prowl would often spend his breaks in Wheeljack’s lab, but he would exactly call their interactions ‘affectionate’ in any capacity.

Friends with benefits? An Earth concept, but perhaps fit the best. Assuming they were friends. They were, or at least Wheeljack thought they were. Hopefully.

It was perhaps… three? Four? Four months into their odd… _arrangement_ when Prowl first off-handedly mentioned a ‘Mesothulas’.

“Who?” Wheeljack asked, shutting off the welder and turning to face Prowl, his winglets canting asymmetrically in confusion. 

Prowl laid on his front across the small sofa Wheeljack had managed to requisition and maneuver into his lab, legs laying on the armrests and a doorwing hanging off the edge and the other rested against the padded back. The tactician lazily onlined his optics and tilted his head to look at Wheeljack, and - yep, the new dose of circuit boosters were taking effect by that point. Prowl was too relaxed to be completely sober - still (relatively) sound of mind, but not about to order an(other) assassination yet.

“Hm?” The noise came out blearily as if Prowl was about to fall straight into recharge on Wheeljack’s couch. Which, the scientist supposed, he might - it wasn’t as if they had exactly gone to recharge _early_ the previous night, and Prowl had been gone before Wheeljack had woken up.

“Mesothulas. Who’s that?” he repeated patiently.

“Ah,” Prowl said. “Yeah, him. Neutral scientist I worked with during the war. Invented Aequitas, stasis bullets, spark extraction ‘n all that.” He waved a hand as if revealing that a _single_ scientist inventing the Aequitas wasn’t a _huge_ deal. “Kinda stopped talkin’ to ‘im after th’ sparkling.”

Wheeljack choked as the words registered.

_“Sparkling?”_

“Mmhm.” Prowl nodded. “Was reeeaaal creepy ‘bout it, too. Impactor booted ‘im into the Noisemaze, destroyed ‘is lab and we gave the bit to Kup.” Prowl paused, and for a split second Wheeljack was convinced that Prowl had passed out on his couch.

“... good frag, though,” he muttered after a moment, and his optics clicked off.

Wheeljack was left in his lab with a half-welded project, a doped-up and sleeping tactician, and so, _so_ many questions.

* * *

“D’ ya frag all the scientists ya talk to or is it just me and Mesothulas?” Wheeljack asked that evening, hands pinning Prowl’s doorwings to the berth as he roughly ground their arrays together.

“What?” Prowl asked, vocalizer hiccuping as a particularly rough clash of their panels pushed him up the berth. “Where in the Pit did you hear that name?”

“Ya mentioned ‘im while your new dose was settin’ in.”

Prowl made a frustrated noise as he let his helm fall back into the pillows behind him, though it’s effect was somewhat undercut by the moan it rolled into shortly afterward, and the insistent grind of his hips against Wheeljack’s, as if he were trying to frag him through their panels.

“Ain’t gonna frag ya ‘til ya tell me more ‘bout Mesothulas,” Wheeljack said, bucking his hips against Prowl’s and tugging his doorwings until the black and white ‘bot released a small cry of pleasure as if Wheeljack were about to give him a tactile overload.

“Haven’t seen him in years,” Prowl groaned out after a moment. “Haven’t ‘faced anybody since.”

“Nobody until me?” Wheeljack asked, vaguely skeptical but accepting of the answer as he shifted one hand from a sensory panel to press at the warped, scalding panel that covered Prowl’s valve, which snapped away almost immediately.

“Nobody but you.” Prowl sobbed as Wheeljack rubbed two fingers along the folds of his valve. The strategist let out a long mewl as Wheeljack dragged them teasingly over his entrance. _“Nobody,”_ he whispered fervently, one sensory panel beating uselessly against the berth while the other trembled, pinned underneath Wheeljack’s weight.

Wheeljack pressed his thumb against Prowl’s anterior node, planning to push for more answers. Plans which were cut short as Prowl made a short little shrieking noise, wrapping his arms and legs around Wheeljack as best his pinned position allowed, shivering violently as he jerked his hips into the scientist’s hand.

Wheeljack took short note of the fervent clenching of Prowl’s valve and the rush of lubricant that warmed his hand.

The former SIC was _far_ more worked up than Wheeljack imagined if he had overloaded during foreplay.

He made a little ‘hmm’ noise as he pulled his hand away and released his spike, quickly lining himself up with his berth partner’s valve.

Perhaps if Wheeljack made a good enough showing, Prowl would be more… _amenable_ to sharing information when he could think properly again.

* * *

“So, Mesothulas?” Wheeljack asked languidly, tracing small patterns along the hinges of Prowl’s flattened doorwings, the SIC himself curled serenely against his chest.

“Primus…” Prowl muttered, a sensory panel flicking agitatedly - though not quite dislodging Wheeljack’s hand. “It was ages ago, we interfaced, I left him, now I’m here, end of story. Stop asking.”

“Hard t’ believe it’s all ‘end of story’ if ya had a sparkling with ‘im.”

Prowl ‘hmph’d and made quick work of turning over to face Wheeljack, a quick flick of his doorwings dislodging his hand as he rested his head on crossed arms on Wheeljack’s chassis.

It would’ve almost been something of a ‘moment’ were it not for the borderline _dangerous_ stare Prowl was giving him.

“Mesothulas decided to create an artificial Cybertronian life form he liked to call ‘Ostaros’. After several more decisions he made that I deeply doubted the ethics of, I enlisted Impactor’s help to lock him within an alternate dimension prison he had recently invented, and destroyed his workshop. I falsified an identity for Ostaros, gave him to Kup to be trained, and have kept my distance since. End of story.”

“You-” Wheeljack started to say, but a murderous glare and a hand snapping out to twist one of his winglets stopped him cold.

 _“End. Of. Story,”_ Prowl hissed.

Wheeljack held his hands up in surrender. Prowl stared at him for a long moment before huffing rolling to lay on the other side of the berth, facing clearly away from Wheeljack. He flicked his doorwing as if to smack Wheeljack’s hand when he tried to reach out to the other.

Wheeljack sighed softly and shifted to lay more comfortably on his back, staring up at the ceiling, slightly lost.

He supposed he should be glad that Prowl didn’t straight up leave - but the agitated and crackling EM field brushing against his and the stony silence made him wonder if it would be better if he did.

* * *

Wheeljack took care to avoid mentioning Mesothulas or Ostaros again and even restrained himself from the urge to try and figure out who ‘Ostaros’ was. Boundaries. Boundaries were important in a relationship.

(Whatever relationship there seemed to be between him and Prowl, anyway.)

A week later, and everything had settled back into a normal routine. If there _was_ an upside to the fight they’d had, it was that Prowl had begun spacing out his hits of circuit boosters more to avoid the complete lack of processor to vocalizer filter he’d had before.

“Why not just lay ‘em off completely?” Wheeljack had asked one day.

“Headaches,” Prowl had grunted, measuring out his next hit. Wheeljack kept him in the corner of his optics as he did so - while it might not have happened yet, he _really_ didn’t want to rush Prowl to the med bay because he’d overdosed. “Bombshell and Shockwave weren’t exactly _gentle_ with my brain module.”

“Why not go see Flatline about it? I’m sure he would recommend you to a mnemosurgeon who could help.”

Prowl stiffened, doorwings hitching up defensively. After a moment his movements continued, but they were stilted. “No,” he said. “No mnemosurgeons.”

Wheeljack sighed, but let the matter rest. He was fairly sure there had to be a deeper story behind the circuit boosters (Prowl had referenced his previous supplier as a _former acquaintance_ \- which suggested it went back before the whole mind control debacle) but was not particularly in a rush to have to try and coax Prowl into talking to him again.

As long as he could monitor Prowl and continue to try and wheedle him out of circuit boosters and get an actual, formal prescription for painkillers, he would let it rest.

* * *

Now, the part where everything started to go _weird_ was when Wheeljack walked into his lab one day only to find his work table covered in _webs._ As in, disturbingly organic spider-silk for a metal, mechanized, non-organic planet. Wheeljack didn’t have anything against organics, it was just… _unsettling._

It was probably that and the _enormous spider_ lazily webbing up his couch that really did it.

On Earth, Wheeljack hadn’t had any problems with spiders unless they got under his seams. They were tiny and harmless. The one on his couch clearly wasn’t.

Wheeljack screamed.

The thing spun around and it’s eight eyes (a sight Wheeljack probably could have lived the rest of his life without seeing) narrowed in on him, and began scuttling in his direction.

Wheeljack screamed louder and backed away as the giant spider shifted… transformed? Into a giant bestial thing.

Backing Wheeljack against a wall, it slowly placed a paw-leg _thing_ on his mouth - or rather, where his mouth _would_ be.

“Quiet,” the thing ordered in clear, crisp Neocybex.

Wheeljack squeaked.

The spider beat hummed as it traced it’s paw down to tilt Wheeljack’s face up to stare directly at it's eight eyes and mandibles. “So,” it mused, “you’re my replacement, are you?”

Wheeljack paused for a moment and clicked his vocalizer back on once he trusted himself to not simply spit static instead. “Replacement?”

“Ah,” the spider sighed disappointedly. “Has Prowl never mentioned past… _partners_ to you?”

“He’s mentioned a Mesothulas,” Wheeljack said, ducking his head and side-stepping around the spider to avoid being pressed against the wall. “Never mentioned knowing a _giant spider.”_

“I suppose he hasn’t seen me in my new form yet, has he?” the spider sighed. _“I’m_ Mesothulas. Formerly. I go by Tarantulas now.”

“Not a very subtle name,” was Wheeljack’s first reaction. To his surprise, the spider - _Tarantulas_ \- laughed, mandibles clicking disturbingly.

“Yet it is very fitting, no?”

Wheeljack shrugged, meandering over to his work table and began to peel away the many layers of the sticky web that covered his work station, while simultaneously pinging Prowl on his comm unit. “I suppose.”

_:: What? ::_

“So back to my original point,” Tarantulas said, walking over to loom over Wheeljack’s shoulder, looking interested as he sorted through his webbed up tools.

_:: Mesothulas is in my lab. ::_

“You are his new lover, correct?” Wheeljack produced an embarrassing bleep of static. 

_:: Not funny. ::_

“Lover?” he squeaked out.

_:: Either way, there’s an intruder in my lab. Classified, ‘n all that. ::_

_:: … On my way. ::_

“Of course,” Tarantulas said simply. “How else am I supposed to interpret Prowl staying over at yours _every night,_ and you interfacing his circuits out _every night._ I speak from experience, it’s very hard to _not_ fall in love with him.”

_:: Might want to add potential stalking to those charges. ::_

“We’re friends,” Wheeljack said insistently, tilting his head slightly to glare at Tarantulas.

“That’s because you fell into each other in this boring, post-war world,” the spider cooed demeaningly. “You’ve never had the - the _delightful pleasure_ of building whatever impossible invention he can come up with. Of seeing what the power of his mind can achieve, what beautiful, _diabolical_ things he can scheme.” Tarantulas shivered oddly as he said those words, and Wheeljack was struck with a sudden feeling of discomfort as an aroused field brushed against his own.

“Listen,” he said, stepping back to put space between him and - and whatever obsessive ex Prowl had gotten himself, “I don’t know what happened between you and Prowl, but don’t try to force it on me. And leave him alone, ‘m pretty sure he’s moved past ya.”

“Oh, how can I force something that’s already there?” Tarantulas asked teasingly, still not seeming to take the situation very seriously. “Even without having seen Prowl at his very best, how can you do anything _but_ notice him?”

“What are you-”

“Have you ever noticed the way bites his lip when he’s thinking?” Tarantulas asked, leaning down to whisper into his audial. Wheeljack felt lightly repulsed but couldn’t command his frame to move. “His little smirk when he’s won an argument? The way his sensory panels flutter when he’s amused, and flex back and forth when he’s troubled? When you’re between his legs, slowly pushing him to overload, the way he-”

“Step away from Wheeljack,” Prowl’s cold voice called from behind them. Tarantulas shuddered and easily turned from Wheeljack to look at his new quarry. Wheeljack himself turned as well but took the opportunity to take several steps away from the large spider.

Prowl had a blaster aimed steadily at Tarantulas, who didn’t seem worried in the slightest.

“Ah,” he purred, taking several steps forward. Prowl’s doorwings hitched up defensively, and Tarantulas stopped his slow approach. “Hm. I suppose I can’t truly expect you to welcome me with open arms when I’ve changed so much since you saw me last, can I?”

“I’ve never met you in all my functioning,” Prowl said, slowly moving his thumb to click the safety of his blaster.

“I suppose you don’t remember Ostaros or throwing me into the Noisemaze, either?” Tarantulas purred. Prowl froze, and the spider took it as an opportunity to stalk close to the focus of his attention. “I suppose you don’t remember every single time you would come back under the pretense of checking up on my work, but every time would find you bent-”

“Enough,” Prowl hissed, snapping himself out of his reverie and adjusting his aim. “You’ve proven your point. It does not change the fact that you are breaking and entering.”

“Hm.” Tarantulas tilted his head in thought before sighing. “I suppose it will take some getting used to before you wish to speak with me again.”

Suddenly, quicker than Wheeljack expected out of lumbering form, he shot forward and pressed his mandibles to Prowl’s face, leaving behind a wet, sticky mark that Wheeljack hesitated to call a kiss.

“For now, my muse.”

And Tarantulas transformed back into his spider alt mode and leaped towards a vent, mass shifting just enough that he slotted through the grate, and Prowl and Wheeljack stood in silence as they heard the tinkling of Tarantulas scuttling away.

“I should probably do something about that vent,” Wheeljack muttered after a moment.

Prowl made a disgusted noise and scowled as he wiped Tarantulas' saliva from his face. “We should probably talk to Starscream about upping the security in your lab first. Mesothu- _Tarantulas_ was in here without being detected for far too long.”

Prowl turned around and strode towards the door, only pausing at the exit to turn and glance at Wheeljack over his shoulder. “Coming?” he asked impatiently.

Wheeljack snapped out of his trance and hurried after the tactician. “Coming.”

He’d been distracted by staring at the back and forth flex of Prowl’s door wings.

**Author's Note:**

> is that a vaguely open ending to write more taraprowljack? absolutely.
> 
> My [twitter](https://twitter.com/crimsonseekers)  
> My [tumblr](https://crimsonseekers.tumblr.com)


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